


The Kings and the Dancing Lessons

by jaydee09



Series: Two Kings [25]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Angst, Dancing, M/M, Romance, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-25 20:54:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3824734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaydee09/pseuds/jaydee09
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elves love to dance.  Dwarves don’t.  But if you don’t dance, there are social consequences.  So, the question is, should Thorin have dancing lessons?  And is the elven dance form more than it seems?  There’s trouble ahead, as usual, for our favourite couple.</p>
<p>This is the 25th story in my Two Kings series but can be read as a stand-alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Kings and the Dancing Lessons

 

.o00o.

 

The Kings and the Dancing Lessons

 

Pt I

 

_“Sex is an emotion in motion.”_ __  
  


The dwarven king hit the spot and Thranduil screamed in ecstasy.   Thorin cringed inside.  If he had been home, back in Erebor, within thick, stone walls that muffled every sound, it would have been different.  But, here in Thranduil’s apartment, in his palace of Mirkwood, the walls seemed so flimsy that he was sure that half the elven fortress could hear them and would guess what they were up to.

 

“Shush!” he hissed in his true love’s ear, slowing down and interrupting his rhythm.

 

“Don’t stop!” snapped a frustrated elven king.  “I’m nearly there!”  And he forced his backside down even harder on Thorin’s satisfyingly large member.

 

“You’re making too much noise,” whispered his lover, almost coming to a halt.

 

“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Thorin!” the elf practically spat.  And he closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, focussed on the task in hand and finally – although not without difficulty – managed to come.

 

Thorin didn’t.

 

The pair rolled apart and Thranduil lay panting and moaning whilst Thorin bit his lip and looked anxious.  In between gasps, the elven king managed to exclaim: “You’re no fun whilst you’re with me in Mirkwood, Thorin!  What is it about my home that puts you off your stroke?”

 

The dwarf thought about the time he had spent in Mirkwood since he had first met his partner.  He could have said that being chained up in its dungeons hadn’t exactly encouraged a positive attitude.  Or he could have said that the sneers and the condescension of the elf lords when he had married their king had not been what one might call welcoming.  Or he could have said that the sullen glares from his son, Legolas, hadn’t quite put him in a good mood.  Or he even could have said that Thranduil’s arrogance tended to increase once he was on home territory.  But he didn’t.  Because, he had to admit that the elves had been very nice to him ever since that incident with the flowered pavilion which they had found incredibly romantic.  And Legolas had come to appreciate the relationship between Thorin and his father.   And even the dungeons sometimes provided them with a great place to have a screw: at least the walls down there were thick.

 

No, it was all to do with the delicate, filigree architecture of the palace.  Nothing seemed substantial and Thorin felt – well – exposed.  And he really didn’t like the thought that there were elven courtiers out there who could hear what was going on and who were laughing at his performance.

 

“People can hear us,” he muttered.

 

Thranduil had managed to catch his breath by now and he laughed.  “And that’s a problem?” he asked.  “Personally, I like the thought that they can hear us.  I like the thought that all those elf lords out there give me jealous glances as we walk past – because they know that I’ve got something that they haven’t…… And that’s you and your wonderful hairy body and amazingly large prick.”

 

He pulled the dwarf back on top of his breast and kissed him.  “Come on,” he said softly.  “Fuck me again and let the whole of Mirkwood know how lucky their king is.”

 

But Thorin squirmed and cleared his throat.  “Umm, no time, my love.  We’ve got to get ready for the feast tonight.  Remember?”  And he was relieved that he had an excuse.

 

Thranduil laughed deep down in his throat.  “You won’t escape me, you know,” he murmured.  “We shall make up for lost time afterwards, don’t you worry.  It will be a challenge to make you scream the place down.”  And he grinned at the thought that the dwarf would be so lost in a sexual daze when he got his hands on him next that he just wouldn’t care how much noise either of them made.

 

Then he rolled on top of him and spent the next five minutes kissing and fondling him until he was rock hard.  And when the dwarven king was panting with desire, he laughed and said: “No time for that now, of course.  You’ll have to save it for a few hours.”  And before Thorin was aware of what he was doing, the elf had reached out to a bedside drawer.  The dwarf saw a quick flash of silver and then something cold was thrust up his behind.  “And,” said Thranduil huskily in his ear, “you’ll wear this plug all evening, just so that you will be reminded of what I intend to do to you once we return to these rooms.”  Then he knelt astride him.  “And don’t you dare remove it.  Or else.”

 

“Or else what?” asked Thorin hoarsely.  He felt so aroused, he wondered how he would get through the evening.

 

“I’ll leave that to your imagination,” said his lover severely.  And Thorin nearly came.

 

.o00o.

 

It was the Feast of Starlight, a memorable date for the elves and even a memorable date for Thorin.  It was at this time, some years past, that the dwarf had been a prisoner in the lowest dungeon of Mirkwood.  But the guards had become drunk during the feast, Bilbo had released him and his companions and they had escaped in barrels from the elven kingdom.

 

Thranduil had reminded him of that moment earlier in the evening.  “I can’t tell you how much I wanted you,” he had murmured, taking the dwarf in his arms.  “It was a torment, having you in my dungeons, and with my seduction of you just not working.”

 

“Oh, but it was,” Thorin murmured back.  “I promised myself to you as a trick – to give us a few more hours to organise our escape: but, at the same time, my desire for you was growing stronger every day.”  And he kissed the king tenderly on his perfect lips.

 

Thranduil had smiled with pleasure.  “I didn’t know that,” he said.  “When I came down the dungeon steps that morning, expecting to take you away to my apartments for a good screw – at last – and found you gone, I thought the entire thing had been a ploy.  My frustration and anger were immense.”

 

“No,” replied the dwarven king, laying his head against the elf’s heart, “you aroused me and I was disgusted with myself for feeling lust for one of the enemy.  It was a relief to escape, otherwise I would have succumbed.”

 

“What a missed opportunity,” sighed Thranduil, holding him close.  “Can you imagine how seismic our coming together would have been at that point, when we both loved and hated each other?  Such an intensity of feeling!”

 

“Mmm,” growled Thorin against his breast.  “I’m imagining this very minute.”  And that’s when they had fallen into bed with each other for a very passionate session which had somehow fizzled out when the dwarf had started shush-ing.

 

But, now they were dressing for the feast, Thorin rather reluctantly.  Eating and drinking and singing in the dwarven manner were his kind of thing; but dancing and poetry and witty conversation in the elven manner upon such occasions definitely weren’t.   He looked forward to a night of boredom.

 

Mind you, he thought, as they walked down the long, airy corridors, it was just as well he didn’t dance.  With the plug pressing so teasingly upon him, no movement was a good idea.  Even walking was a torment, let alone jigging around in some silly dance.  And his wretched lover, knowing very well what discomfort he was in, looked down at him and laughed.  “Are you all right, my love?” he asked teasingly.

 

“You know I’m not,” growled Thorin in return.  “All I want is a nice comfortable chair in a quiet corner somewhere, a big plate of food and a glass of wine.  I can’t wait for this evening to be over.”

 

“No,” grinned the elf.  “I can hardly wait either.  But waiting will only increase the pleasure.”  And, in a quiet spot in the corridor, he pressed the dwarven king up against the wall and, nuzzling his throat, felt his over-excited cock through the silken material of his elven-styled robes.

 

“I shall explode if you keep on doing that,” muttered Thorin.

 

Thranduil laughed.  “Then it’s fortunate that these robes are so voluminous,” he replied, “so that no-one can see the state you’re in.”

 

Thorin, torn between excitement and torture, pulled himself away and grumbled his way down the corridor.  “Come on, let’s get this stupid feast over and done with.”

 

.o00o.

 

Pt II

 

_“Dance is very pure, a totally white thought.”_

 

It was worse than he expected.   The wine was good enough but the food was not to his taste – yet another reason for not especially enjoying being in Mirkwood.  The arty-farty poetry readings sent him to sleep – or rather, he would have gone to sleep if it weren’t for that wretched plug which made him constantly aware of its presence.  And the singing was, as usual, high-pitched and without the gutsiness of dwarven songs.  In fact, the best bit was when a handsome, dark-haired elf lord approached him with a harp and asked Thorin to sing and play for them.  He always enjoyed performing and the elves seemed to appreciate his singing.  It made him feel as if he belonged.

 

But, it was downhill from there on.  After the singing came the dancing.  Dwarves didn’t dance – not this courtly style of dancing anyway – and he always found these sessions tiresome.  It was made even worse this time because many of the elves had grown to like him and made a big show of him ‘joining in’.  They danced with either and both sexes and soon Thorin had a stream of both elf lords and ladies trying to lure him out onto the dance floor.  The pretty ladies were very sweet – they had had a soft spot for him ever since Thranduil had left him that time and he had camped out on his doorstep for a month.  They had brought him cakes and other gifts of food; and now they kept asking him to dance.

 

Scattered amidst the ladies were a few of the elf lords who admired him for his courage and his fighting skills; but they also thought him handsome and were curious as to why their king found it difficult to keep his hands off such a one as Thorin.  The elf lord, Damaril, who had offered him the harp, made his way across the room and bowed gracefully before him.  “It would please me very much if you would dance with me,” he said with a warm smile.

 

For the _n_ th time, Thorin gave a brusque nod, apologised and said that he had no knowledge of elven dances.  Damaril bowed and smiled again and laid a hand upon his breast, expressing his deep disappointment that this was so.  “Perhaps I could teach you one day,” he said.  And then he turned towards Thranduil.

 

Very few people asked Thranduil to dance: he was their king and had an aloof and intimidating manner.  But, Damaril asked politely and the elven king said yes – much to Thorin’s annoyance.  Now he would have to sit here alone.  And he poured himself another glass of wine and glowered in his corner.

 

The pair danced their dance together and Thorin took some pleasure in watching his lover’s elegant and sinuous movements.  But, Thranduil kept casting seductive glances in his direction, and the dwarf found himself uncomfortably shifting from one buttock to the other.  He knew what his lover was doing to tease him but he found that he couldn’t look away.  He was relieved when the dance came to an end and waited for him to return to his seat.  But the two elves stood there chatting – and then, when the musicians struck up once more, they danced another dance – and then a third.

 

There was something erotic about elven dances.  In their first stately pavane, the two hadn’t even touched but had passed back to back and then breast to breast within inches of each other.  The skill and grace of the dance was demonstrated in how closely they could pass each other without making contact and it was peculiarly arousing to watch them do so.

 

In the second dance, only the tips of their fingers made contact and, to Thorin’s watchful eyes, their fingers seemed to linger as they parted and came together again.

 

But, the third one was a dance that Thorin had never witnessed before.  Nothing seemed unusual until the last few moments.  Then their arms encircled each other’s waist and their hands slid up to cup their partner’s face – and then they kissed!!  Thorin immediately sat upright in his chair.  It was not a peck on the cheek.  It was not a quick brush of the lips.  It was long and leisurely and, when it was finally over, their lips parted reluctantly and Thorin could see tongues, by Mahal!   The dwarven king felt like hitting someone.  He felt like hitting Damaril.  Or perhaps he felt like hitting Thranduil.

 

All the other couples on the dance floor had kissed too, but, as far as Thorin was concerned, this was no excuse and, when Thranduil came sauntering back to their table, the dwarf rose from his seat and hissed: “I’m going back to our apartment.”  Thranduil blinked in surprise and when the dwarven king swept from the room, he hurried after him.

 

The elf finally caught up with him just as he entered their rooms.  “What’s the matter?” he asked in puzzlement.

 

“You really don’t know?” snapped Thorin.

 

“No, I don’t,” was the curt response.

 

“So, what was that passionate kiss about?” the dwarf snarled.  “And right under my nose too.  How provocative can you get?”

 

“Provocative kiss?” asked the elven king blankly.  And then his brow cleared.  “Oh, you mean in the dance?”

 

And when the dwarf glared, he threw his hands in the air.  “But it’s a _dance_ ,” he  exclaimed.  “There is no meaning in it, except within the dance.  Perhaps if you could be bothered to learn a few, you would understand them better.”

 

Thorin stomped around the room for a bit and then he began to calm down.

 

“Damaril offered to teach me,” he muttered.

 

“Well, there you go,” replied the elf.  “Perhaps you should take him up on his offer.”  And he walked up behind the dwarf and slid his arms around his waist.  “And at this precise moment,” he whispered in his ear, “the only one I want to kiss is you.”   

 

“So, why can’t _you_ teach me?” Thorin grumbled.

 

“Because I’m in council meetings all day.  Having dancing lessons with Damaril will give you something to do,” he wheedled.

 

Thorin turned in his arms and offered up his lips.  Thranduil buried himself in them with a groan.  Then he slipped a hand between the dwarf’s legs.  “Ah,” he said huskily, “I see the plug has been doing its work.”

 

Thorin laughed shakily.  “A bit too well at times this evening,” he said. 

 

“Then let’s go to bed,” murmured the elf gently, “and we can resolve the issue.”

 

Thorin sighed with relief at the thought.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt III

 

_“The only thing wrong with immortality is that it tends to go on forever.”_ __  
  


 

Damaril was being very patient with Thorin and Thorin was being very bad-tempered.

 

“Well,” grunted the dwarf, “I don’t know how you expect me to be graceful when it’s just not in our dwarven natures to be graceful.  That might explain why we _don’t dance_.”

 

“Anyone can be graceful if they practise enough,” suggested Damaril encouragingly.  “Shall we try again?”  He was in the middle of teaching the king how to dance the slow pavane that didn’t involve any touching.

 

“You need to understand,” he explained, “that all our dances are about tension and this one is a superb example of physical tension between two performers, even when there is no contact.  You need to learn how to express that tension in your movements………Oh, and by the way, do you need to keep your boots on?”

 

Thorin exchanged his boots for something lighter and softer and his movements improved a little.

 

“And I refuse to believe that you can’t be graceful,” continued the elf, “because I’ve seen you fight.”

 

“What’s that got to do with dancing?” muttered Thorin.

 

“Well, you need to think about all your spins and twirls and passes,” was the amused response.  “Without a sword in your hand, they could be dance moves.”

 

“I suppose so,” said the dwarf rather grumpily but, once that comparison had been made and Thorin had given the fighting/dancing idea due consideration, his movements improved tremendously and, once he didn’t have to think about his gracefulness or otherwise, he could concentrate on the dance itself.

 

“And I suggest that you change into some flowing elven robes,” added Damaril.  But when Thorin went into the bedroom to get changed, the elf followed him and, leaning on the door jamb, studied his near naked body with interest.

 

_Let him look_ , thought the king sourly.  He was used to elves raising their eyebrows at his different dwarven shape and hairy body.  But Damaril just nodded his head in approval.  “All those powerful muscles should help you control your movements to a nicety,” he said.  “And so I don’t want any excuses that you can’t do something.”

 

They returned to the room and stood very closely together.  “Now,” said the elf, “in order to create the tension, there has to be total awareness of your partner.  So, shut your eyes, breathe in slowly and tell me what I smell like.”

 

Thorin raised an eyebrow but did as he was told: “Spring flowers, cut grass and fresh fruit,” he said.  “A bit like Thranduil,” he added.  “And most elves.”

 

“Very perceptive,” laughed Damaril.  “And you smell of horses, sweat, leather and hot metal.”

 

“And does that repulse you?” asked Thorin curiously.  He knew that Thranduil was attracted to his smell and didn’t really care what the elf lord thought.

 

“No, actually,” was the considered response.  “It’s just – different….Now pass in front of me, inhaling as you do so.”

 

And so it went on.  In between the inhaling, he had to make contact with Damaril by gazing into his eyes; and he also had to be aware of the silken material of his robes moving against his own body and listen to the hiss and rustle of the elf’s clothing as it moved against his.   It was extraordinary how intense the experience was.

 

When Thorin had perfected this dance, they had a break.  The dwarven king grinned at Damaril over a glass of wine.  “I’m now not surprised that elves enjoy dancing so much: you must all be in a constant state of arousal on the dance floor.”

 

The elf laughed.  “An interesting thought,” he replied, “but, actually, we’re not.  It might all seem very intense to you but most of us have known each other and danced with each other for a thousand years and more.  We just know each other too well by now to be aroused : our pleasure is gained from the perfection of our performance.”

 

“So, even kissing your dance partner does nothing for you?” asked Thorin curiously.  “There’s a downside to immortality, I see.”  And he now understood why Thranduil had wanted him to take these lessons.

 

Damaril smiled sadly.  “Yes, feelings of desire are often no longer on an elven agenda – it happens, but not frequently.  We are always saying how much we despise the earthy passions of mortals, but perhaps that is jealousy - a yearning for something that we have lost.”

 

Thorin, thinking of the passionate Thranduil, found Damaril’s opinion on elven lust and desire difficult to believe.  He would have to ask his lover all about it later that evening.

 

Then they spent the rest of the afternoon learning the touching and the kissing dances and Thorin discovered the power that even the lightest caress of the fingers could bring.  He was even more curious about the kiss: Damaril explained that this was also all about awareness of your partner, and that, since it wasn’t driven by passion, he should focus instead on performance as they explored each other’s mouths.

 

And the king had to admit that it was a different experience from that which he had with Thranduil, where lust and love drove them to blindly delve into each other’s warmth and wetness.  In the dance, it was as if he was analysing every movement of his lips and tongue and he was just beginning to get something from the experience when Damaril jerked away.  “I’m sorry,” he gasped.  “It’s your beard, I’m afraid.  I just can’t do this.  I hope I haven’t offended you.”

 

Thorin gave him an understanding pat on the shoulder.  “Don’t worry,” he said. “It’s a dwarf/elf thing, I know.  No offense taken.  I’m just so grateful for all your patience with me this afternoon.  You have equipped me excellently for the next elven feast.”

 

That night in bed, he used all his new-found skills to arouse his partner and his own increased awareness did magical things for both of them.  “Are you sniffing me?” laughed the elf as Thorin leaned in close and breathed in his perfume whilst touching a nipple very, very delicately.

 

“No,” grinned the dwarf.  “I’m inhaling you.”

 

Thranduil began to writhe in ecstasy.  “Your dancing lessons?” he gasped.

 

“Yes,” Thorin managed to grunt as the technicalities of inhaling, touching and kissing melded together with his lust, desire and love for the elven king and there was no more discussion in the bedroom that night.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt IV

 

_“Dancing is a vertical expression of a horizontal desire.”_

 

But, when the morning came, Thorin lay in Thranduil’s embrace and asked him about Damaril’s conclusions on desire and immortality.

 

“Yes,” said the elven king wryly. “That just about sums it up for many of us.  When they say that elves love only once, perhaps it’s because they can’t be bothered to love more than that.”  And he gave a dry laugh.  “Immortality can make every aspect of life seem stale and flat.  Our aloofness stems from boredom.  We often only produce one child and then, mission accomplished, we can’t bring ourselves to have sex any more.”

 

Thorin stared wide-eyed: “But what about you and me?” he said.

 

“Ah, but you and me are different,” whispered the elf in his ear.  “The desire that I feel for you will never be extinguished.”  And he rolled the dwarf beneath him.

 

.o00o.

 

Damaril the elf lord lay awake that morning too, thinking about love, lust and sex.  He was well-liked in Mirkwood because of his kindly thoughtfulness.  His gesture to Thorin when he had asked him to play the harp and then had asked him to dance had stemmed from his desire to make the dwarf feel more accepted and comfortable in his surroundings.  During the Battle of the Five Armies, he had seen Thorin fight and had watched in awe as he had taken down orc after orc.  Here was a great warrior that he could relate to.  And he was less surprised than many when his king had become the dwarf’s partner.

 

His offer to teach Thorin how to dance had been another kindly gesture – but it had all gone so wrong.  He should have known almost immediately as he had snuffed the dwarf’s perfume and had felt the delicate and sensitive touch of his large fingers and seen his half-naked body that something was happening that he just wasn’t prepared for.  He had never had a partner of his own because neither elf lord nor elf lady had ever attracted him. When you are immortal, then there is plenty of time to find the one you will love only once.  And when he had finally kissed the king, instead of it being merely a technical exercise, something had kicked him in the gut.  He had recovered quickly, pulling away and making up all that stuff about Thorin’s beard.  But a burgeoning seed had been planted.

 

What was he to do?  For a brief moment, the wild idea of luring Thorin away from Thranduil flashed through his mind.  And then he laughed at his own folly.  You only had to see the two kings together to understand that they had an unbreakable bond.  Well, then, perhaps he should go on his travels and visit every elven stronghold in Middle-earth in an effort to meet someone who would mean as much to him as Thorin meant to Thranduil.  Yes, he would pack soon and run away from the temptation that was the dwarven king.

 

But, when he went down to dine that evening, full of determination to make a clean break, a smiling Thorin came over to him and sat at his side.  The dwarf felt for the first time that he had made an elven friend.  He really liked Damaril and the elf had been very kind to him. He shyly handed him a small, polished, wooden box.  “This is just to thank you for those lessons,” he said.  “I’m sorry I don’t have anything better to give you, here with me in Mirkwood.”  The elf opened the box and on a velvet cushion lay a very beautiful mithril hair ring that Damaril had seen adorning one of Thorin’s plaits.  “It’s one of mine,” said the king a little anxiously.  “I hope you don’t mind.”

 

“It makes the gift more precious,” said the elf gravely.  And he meant it.  To own a little bit of Thorin which he could take with him on his journey was more than he deserved or expected.  He picked it up and felt it for a moment and then asked Thorin to plait it in his hair. The dwarven king was delighted and Damaril felt a little frisson as the dwarf’s fingers moved in his silken locks. 

 

“There,” said Thorin with a pleased grin.  “Now you look as beautiful as any dwarf.”

 

_Not as any dwarf_ , thought Damaril.  _Only you_.

 

They turned then as Thranduil unexpectedly called the hall to attention.  The elves and Thorin looked on with curiosity as he clapped his hands and ordered servants to clear the centre of the room.  Then he said, with a smile: “Few of you will know that our dear friend, Damaril, has been giving my partner, Thorin, dancing lessons and I think we should applaud both the efforts of the tutor and those of his pupil who has always worked so hard to understand and appreciate our society.”

 

At this, a ripple of applause ran around the room and everyone turned to look at Thorin.

 

“I must admit,” continued the elven king, his smile widening, “that I have a great desire to see the outcome of Damaril’s lessons.”  And he gestured forward a small band of musicians.  “I’m sure that we would all like to witness a performance of the three dances he has learned so far.”

 

The hall erupted in delighted cheers.  When they had first met Thorin and he had been asked to sing, they had prepared themselves to laugh.  But his singing had been so beautiful that they had learned not to underestimate him since then.  They were pretty confident that he would put on at least a competent performance and they settled back to watch with interest.

 

“I’m sorry,” Thorin said to Damaril with an apologetic grin.  “I honestly didn’t know that he had planned this.  Are you up for it?”

 

And, of course, the elf had to say ‘yes’.  His bags were packed: he was ready to make his exit.  And he was reluctant to have any more intimate contact with Thorin.  But, there you go….

 

The first dance went very well.  They established an excellent tension as they passed each other without touching.  The elves applauded loudly, impressed by Thorin’s unexpected grace and control.  But a slight frown had appeared on Thranduil’s forehead.

 

The second dance was even more thrilling as their fingers came together and parted and came together again.  The courtiers applauded with enthusiasm but Thranduil’s brow grew ever more clouded.

 

When they reached the third dance, Thorin managed to whisper to Damaril: “You don’t have to kiss me properly, you know, if you find it disturbing.  Just a quick brush of the lips should do.”

 

Damaril nodded in agreement, but, when they reached the final moment and their lips touched, the elf lord lost control.  The kiss was deep, prolonged and languorous.  Thorin was just thinking that Damaril was doing very well for one who had a disgust of beards when the elf was suddenly wrenched violently away and Thranduil had him pinned by the throat up against a carven pillar.  “By Eru,” he hissed, “I should kill you for that.”  Thorin saw that the other elves sat there unmoving with stern faces and that none came to Damaril’s aid.

 

Shocked and confused, the dwarf stepped forward to intervene – and none too soon.  The elf lord couldn’t breathe and was beginning to turn blue.  And the strange thing was that he made no attempt to defend himself.

 

Thorin grabbed the elven king by the shoulder and tried to pull him away.  “Stop it, Thranduil,” he cried.  “Your jealousy is just as ridiculous as mine was the other day!”

 

“Stay out of this, Thorin,” snarled the elf.  “You don’t understand.”

 

“I understand that you are killing him,” was the retort and Thorin finally managed to wrench him away.  Thranduil stood there gasping and Damaril sank to the floor, a hand at the fingermarks that were already discolouring his throat.

 

The dwarf helped the elf to his feet.  “I’m taking him to his rooms,” he said brusquely.

 

“Oh, no you won’t,” snapped Thranduil.  “You’ll go nowhere with him – and especially nowhere near his rooms.”

 

“Stop me,” said Thorin.  And he helped Damaril slowly from the hall.

 

.o00o.

 

Thorin lowered his friend gently into a chair and then sat opposite him.

 

“Now tell me what all that was about,” he said quietly.

 

“Can I explain the ways of elves to a dwarf?” was the doubtful response.

 

“Well, I’ve lived with one for some years now and I know you are all very strange,” said Thorin with a slight smile.

 

Damaril sighed: “I broke the rules and all who witnessed it have condemned me.”

 

Thorin looked both puzzled and indignant: “Why?  Because you kissed a dwarf?”

 

“No,” said Damaril wryly.  “Not because I kissed a dwarf but because I _kissed_ a dwarf.  There’s a big difference.  And I did it during the sacred rituals of a dance.”

 

“I don’t understand,” said the king.  “You’ll have to do better than that.”

 

Damaril sighed: “I have already explained that our dances are not about arousal or emotion.  They are about skill and technique.  It is incumbent upon the dancers to do the dance as it has been performed for thousands of years, in  honour of Eru………But,” and he bowed his head in embarrassment, “when I taught you to dance, I began to feel lustful urges towards you and Thranduil and the other courtiers finally recognised it when we performed this evening.  I have brought shame upon myself and upon this court.”

 

He gestured to his bags.  “I intend to leave tomorrow morning.  I was hoping to make my exit before I revealed the way that I felt about you, but that kiss was a step too far.”

 

_No, he would never understand elves_ , thought Thorin.  But he bent forward and took the elf’s cold hand in his warm one.  “You will always be my friend,” he said.  “And I wish you weren’t going.  But, go where?”

 

“To Elrond’s court and then on to the Grey Havens.  I intend to visit all the elven courts of Middle-earth.” 

 

And then Thorin clasped his hand tightly.  “I shall come to see you off tomorrow,” he promised.

 

.o00o.

 

When he returned to his own apartment, Thorin found an agitated Thranduil pacing the room.  “Where have you been for so long?” growled the elf.  “What have you been up to?”

 

“I’ve been trying to understand the ways of elves,” said the dwarven king, “with very little success.”

 

Thorin thought his friend had been harshly treated and Thranduil thought that his reaction had been misunderstood.  And so they both went to bed without further conversation and lay there without touching.  When the sun came up, Thorin went down to the stables to wish Damaril farewell.

 

“My sister lives near the Grey Havens,” he said.  “Perhaps you can bear a gift to her from me with all my love.”  And he slipped off an arm ring from one of his great biceps.

 

“Willingly,” said the elf lord.  “It would please me very much to meet her.”

 

Then Thorin kissed him on the lips.  “I’m sorry,” he said.  And, after that, there was no more to say.

 

Damaril rode away into the dawn.  The arm ring was still warm and he slipped it over his own wrist, finding comfort there.

 

Back in the apartment, Thranduil was still in bed, looking sullen.  “Well, did you kiss him?” he said.

 

“Of course,” said Thorin, stripping off his clothes and kicking them into a corner.  “But I’d rather fuck you.”  And he got into bed and took the elf in his arms.  “We’re so lucky,” he said quietly.  “We have each other but Damaril has no-one nor has he ever had anyone.  He has gone in search of a love like ours and we should be glad for him.”

 

“You’re cold,” grumbled the elf.

 

“Well, warm me up then,” was the response.

 

Thranduil buried his face in the dwarf’s powerful shoulder.  There would always be jealousy; there would always be pain.  But that was because they loved each other so possessively and perhaps too well.

 

“All right,” he said grudgingly.  “Just a quick one before breakfast.”

 

“I’d rather have a long one that takes us all the way through to lunch,” laughed Thorin as he rolled on top of his one true love and pushed his length between the elf’s smooth thighs.

 

.o00o.

 

_Well, I hope you felt sorry for Damaril and his unrequited love.  Thorin is just too attractive for his own good – or for the good of others, for that matter.  I hope the elf lord enjoys himself in Ered Luin with Dis._

_I’m thinking about another story but I don’t know how long it will take me to get there.  If you’ve enjoyed this and it is your first one, then click on the Two Kings link to read the rest, from the time that Thranduil chucked Thorin in his dungeons in King of the Antlered Throne.  The other episode referred to, when the elves discovered that Thorin was a very romantic fellow and they rather grew to like him, is The Kings and the Flowered Pavilion._

_Let me know what you thought of this one – hope you didn’t find my ideas about elven dances too odd._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                  

 

 


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